


One of These Nights Jack Needs to Get Some Sleep

by lincyclopedia



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alcohol, Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Marriage Proposal, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Limited, Panic Attacks, Past Kent "Parse" Parson/Jack Zimmermann, Present Tense, Vomiting, technically they're together in the first scene but only that scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:21:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27612683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lincyclopedia/pseuds/lincyclopedia
Summary: Five times Jack pulls an all-nighter and one time he doesn't.
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 28
Kudos: 134





	One of These Nights Jack Needs to Get Some Sleep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OrSaiKellieLonore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrSaiKellieLonore/gifts).



> Apparently I’ve only dedicated one fic to [OrSaiKellieLonore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrSaiKellieLonore), and that was over a year ago. This is blatantly unacceptable, so here’s an attempt to rectify that. This fic was their idea; we were reading [“the road leads back to you”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13448577/chapters/30825111) out loud to each other and Jack gets way too little sleep in that fic, and we were talking about that, so here goes.

**One: Rimouski, Quebec, Canada, 2009**

Jack doesn’t do this sober. At least, not where anyone can see. He and Kent are—well, _careful_ would probably be an overstatement, but they’re not usually this sloppy. But they did shots tonight in addition to all the beer they’ve been drinking, and it’s hard to feel compelled by any of the reasons he has to keep his hands off of Kent. So he isn’t keeping his hands off of Kent, and Kent is touching him just as much, just as needily, in return. 

For a while it’s just dancing, the sort of thing they’ll probably be able to write off later if anyone asks, but then Kent drags Jack into a corner and Jack is panting, “Okay, okay,” against his mouth, and then they’re kissing. It’s glorious—things have been so intense lately, with the draft bearing down on them and the stress of knowing there’s basically no way they’ll wind up on the same team, and it’s gotten harder and harder to find time to sneak around. But none of that matters right now; all that matters is Kent’s mouth against Jack’s and the way they’re grinding against one another and—

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Kent breathes, and Jack isn’t sure he’s ever heard Kent sound so terrified. Jack opens his eyes and looks over his shoulder. There’s a girl holding her phone up in their direction, thumb pressing down in the middle, almost certainly taking pictures. 

“Fuck,” Jack says, and it’s the last word he gets out before his breathing changes, becoming far too shallow to be useful. Kent drags him by the wrist toward the door, but they’re not even outside yet when Jack’s vision tunnels. The next thing he knows, he’s in Kent’s bedroom at the billet family’s house and Kent is throwing up in the en suite bathroom. 

Jack pukes too, but while vomiting seems to settle Kent, Jack can’t get a handle on himself. He doesn’t have any pills on him and so he just sits on Kent’s floor, terrified and still drunk and post-panic exhausted, until the grey pre-dawn light starts seeping in around the sides of Kent’s blackout curtains. Then he sneaks downstairs and manages to call himself a cab. 

The girl’s photographs never surface, but it takes Jack a long time to stop being constantly low-grade worried that they _might_. 

* * *

**Two: Samwell, Massachusetts, USA, 2011**

Jack wouldn’t have come to this party, except that Byron is a painfully young 18-year-old who clearly went to prep school and doesn’t have a clue about the rest of the world. It’s not like Jack doesn’t think Byron’s been drunk before—it’s not like Jack doesn’t know that Byron smokes weed on the regular—but there’s a difference between Andover and college, even when that college is Samwell. And Byron has way too many loud opinions and way too much “fight me” attitude for this to end well. 

It’s past two a.m. and Jack really wishes he were asleep right now. But the motto of the Samwell Men’s Hockey team is “Got your back,” and he’s got Byron’s. None of the upperclassmen seem to be looking out for Jack or Byron at all—John Johnson clapped Jack on the shoulder when he showed up and said, “Glad you’re making friends with Shitty. I mean Byron. That will matter later,” whatever that means, and no one else checks on them at all, the entire night—so clearly it’s Jack’s job to make sure Byron doesn’t get alcohol poisoning or try to fight someone twice his size. 

Speaking of alcohol poisoning—Byron comes stumbling out of the crowd of dancing people now, unsteady on his feet, looking woozy. Jack puts an arm around Byron’s shoulders and guides him outside, glad to get some fresh air, away from the sweaty humidity, alcohol fumes, and thumping bass of the Haus. They’re in the yard when Byron pitches forward and vomits on his own shoes; Jack steps out of the way just in time. 

Jack almost asks Byron which dorm he lives in, but then he realizes that’s a bad idea. Byron’s mentioned a roommate, who’s probably asleep right now, and besides, there’s no guarantee Byron knows where his keys are. Jack has a single. Better just to take Byron back to Jack’s dorm, give him the bed, and keep an eye on him for the next few hours to make sure he doesn’t, like, choke to death on his own puke or something. 

Byron throws up again on the walk to Jack’s dorm, and again in Jack’s trash can. Jack cleans everything up and makes Byron drink some water before letting him get to sleep. But since Byron has the bed, Jack doesn’t really have anywhere to sleep. So he gets out his history textbook, turns on his desk lamp, and works on getting ahead on next week’s reading. 

By the time Byron wakes up several hours later, groaning, Jack’s eyes are very heavy, but he’s ahead in three of his classes.

* * *

**Three: Samwell, Massachusetts, USA, 2013**

Jack isn’t planning on pulling an all-nighter. The chain of events leading up to him not sleeping that night starts with Hall and Murray asking him if he can meet during that crucial hour-long block in the middle of the day that he usually spends on homework. No, it starts with that frog Bittle fainting at practice. No, it starts with Samwell offering Bittle an athletic scholarship. 

Whatever. It’s definitely Bittle’s fault. 

Regardless, Jack has to watch an entire documentary for one of his classes, and he’s got 60 pages of textbook reading for another, and a 12-page paper for a third that he really meant to start earlier but it’s just _hard_ to get things done early with the hockey season being what it is. He usually goes to bed around 11, and pretty frequently he takes naps on days when he has checking practice with Bittle, but this is not one of those days. Practice was in the morning, and then there was team breakfast and then class and the meeting with Hall and Murray and then more class until four, and then it’s homework until dinner and more homework after dinner and Jack doesn’t lose track of time, even though he desperately wishes he could. He feels every minute slip past, and it’s past his bedtime, and then it’s midnight, and then it’s one in the morning, and then two, and then three, and this _fucking paper_ will not write itself. 

At 3:50 a.m. Jack prints his paper and then heads downstairs and starts the coffee maker. When the coffee is ready, he pours himself three-quarters of a cup and then fills the rest of the cup with cold water so that he can down the whole thing and repeat the process. Once he’s had three cups of coffee (well, three cups that were three-quarters of a cup of coffee each), he bundles up and heads to Faber, already jittering. 

Bittle seems to be looking at Jack extra nervously as they lace up their skates, but when Jack sighs heavily Bittle asks, “Are you all right?” and Jack suddenly wonders if he’s been mistaking worry for nerves. 

“I stayed up all night working on homework,” Jack grunts. 

“Oh! We could have canceled, you know,” says Bittle, maybe a touch hopefully. 

“Nope. Not an option. Now come on.” Jack pushes himself to standing and clomps out of the locker room without checking whether Bittle is following him. 

* * *

**Four: Providence, Rhode Island, USA, 2015**

Jack hasn’t seen Bitty since the Fourth of July, and he’s quite frankly astounded that he’s had the self-restraint not to buy another ticket to Georgia. Honestly, he’s pretty sure the only reason he’s managed it is because he refuses to be responsible for outing Bitty to his family before he’s ready. But now he’s waiting for Bitty to get here from the airport, and he swears he’s going to wear a hole in his carpet from all this pacing. 

It’s already well past dinnertime, inching up on Jack’s bedtime, but Jack is _beyond_ wired. That’s not to say he isn’t also tired—practices have been grueling lately, coming out of the off-season—but he’s not in the mood to sleep. He’s not going to pressure Bitty into anything; they haven’t had sex yet, since they didn’t want to risk it in Georgia, and they’ve only talked about it a couple times, on Skype when Bitty was absolutely sure his parents were asleep, and even then the conversations were vague. Jack knows Bitty’s a virgin, and he honestly kind of wishes he hadn’t had half the sex he’d had in his life either. Taking things slow will be fine. If Bitty doesn’t want to take things slow, though, Jack certainly won’t mind jumping into bed tonight. He’s wanted Bitty for a long damn time at this point, even if it took him a while to fully realize it. 

Bitty arrives at Jack’s condo at last, and Jack buzzes him in. He wishes he could meet Bitty in the lobby, but the risks of being spotted are way too high. Instead, he greets Bitty at the door and pulls him into a tight hug. It’s Bitty who pulls back after several seconds just far enough to press their lips together. It’s Bitty, too, who walks Jack backward until he’s up against the wall. They stand there, kissing in the entryway, erections becoming increasingly obvious through their jeans, for several minutes. 

“Gonna take me to the bedroom, Mister Zimmermann?” Bitty finally asks breathlessly. 

“Only if you want me to,” Jack replies.

“Such a gentleman. As it happens, though, I really, really want you to.” 

“Okay,” says Jack, taking Bitty’s hand and leading him down the hall. 

They’re just getting out of the shower, spent and sated, when Jack’s alarm goes off for morning practice. Bitty starts apologizing immediately, but Jack stops him with a kiss. “I can take a nap later,” Jack says. “I wanted that, okay?”

“Okay,” says Bitty, towelling off and not meeting Jack’s eyes. “If you say so.” 

Jack doesn’t know how Bitty can back him against a wall, all swagger and self-assurance, but not be able to meet his gaze now. He hopes it’s not because of the fact that they’ve actually had sex, but he doesn’t think he has time to get to the bottom of it at the moment. Instead of asking, he kisses Bitty’s head and says, “I definitely say so,” before heading to the bedroom to put on some clothes. 

* * *

**Five: Samwell, Massachusetts, USA, 2017**

Eight years ago—hell, even three years ago—Jack wouldn’t have been able to imagine a scenario where he would’ve been grateful to get knocked out of the playoffs. But Bitty has turned his life upside down in pretty much every possible way, and, though Jack played his heart out all season and certainly wasn’t _aiming_ to lose, he can’t say he’s regretted being able to attend Bitty’s final Samwell games, and he certainly doesn’t regret the fact that he’ll be attending Bitty’s graduation tomorrow. 

He has basically no regrets right now, but that doesn’t mean he’s satisfied, exactly, because his damn anxiety won’t let him be. So much is going to happen tomorrow. So much already happened today—Bitty packed up his room at the Haus, kissed the ice, and said goodbye to his kitchen—but so much is still left. Tomorrow Bitty will accept the Rachel Graham Memorial Prize and give his speech, and then he and Jack will go to Faber, where they’ll hopefully execute that lift they’ve been working on when Bitty’s visited Providence, and then _Jack_ will give _his_ speech, the one Bitty doesn’t know about yet. 

And Bitty will say yes. 

Right? 

Shitty has told Jack that the speech doesn’t have to be perfect, and Jack’s logical brain believes him. He’s been awkward or grouchy or both in front of Bitty plenty of times in the past, and that hasn’t managed to chase Bitty away. Everything is going to be fine. But his anxiety brain doesn’t believe it. He needs to make Bitty understand how deeply in love he is, how grateful he is for all the amazing gifts Bitty has given him—of perspective, of happiness, of kindness (hell, even of food). He needs Bitty to understand that Jack’s life started when they met, that Bitty is the one who has given his life meaning and purpose. Words have never been Jack’s strong suit, but he needs to make sure the ones he uses tomorrow are perfect. 

Shitty’s chirped him a bit for it, but he has notecards. He’s not planning on pulling them out of his pocket, but it helps, to know that his speech is written down and that he can refer to it if his mind goes utterly blank. 

It doesn’t help enough, though. He spends the night alternately lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, and pacing, trying to keep his steps quiet lest he wake the people in the hotel room below him. He hits the hotel breakfast as soon as it opens and drinks as much coffee as he dares. 

At least it’s not his first all-nighter. 

* * *

**Plus One: Providence, Rhode Island, USA, 2017**

It’s been simultaneously the best and most exhausting day of Jack’s life. There was the commencement ceremony and Bitty’s speech, and then Jack proposed and Bitty said yes (after fainting at center ice), and then there was a game of pick-up, and there was a dinner with both sets of parents that seemed to go on forever, and then, finally Bitty and Jack drove back to Jack’s condo. Jack ordered multiple coffees with dinner just to lessen the chances he’d crash the car before the Rhode Island state line. 

“How do you want to spend our first night as an engaged couple, Mister Zimmermann?” Bitty asks once they’ve carried the boxes of Bitty’s stuff into Jack’s—no, _their_ —condo. 

Jack can’t hide his yawn. “Honestly, I might want to call it a night.” 

Bitty’s hand is on Jack’s arm immediately. “Jack, sweetpea, are you feeling all right?”

“I’m fine, Bits,” says Jack. When Bitty doesn’t stop looking at him in obvious concern, Jack concedes, “I didn’t sleep at all last night. I was so anxious about today.” 

“Oh, sugar,” says Bitty, wrapping his arms around Jack. “Did you honestly think there was any chance I’d say no?”

“Not really,” says Jack, “but you know my anxiety brain doesn’t care about things like actual probabilities.” 

Bitty goes up on tiptoes to kiss Jack’s cheek. “I know, and I’m sorry about that. We can get ready for bed now if you want. Lord, how many of your all-nighters have I been responsible for by now?”

Jack thinks about it. “At least three or four. But it’s okay. You’re worth it, bud.” He nuzzles his face into Bitty’s hair. “You’re always worth it.” 

“That may be, but you need sleep.” 

Jack shoots Bitty an unimpressed look. “And how many all-nighters have you pulled just in the past two months?”

Bitty puts a hand over his heart, pretending to be scandalized. “Why Mister Zimmermann, what a question!” 

Jack rolls his eyes. “All right, then. Keep your secrets.” 

Bitty goggles at him. “Did you just quote a _meme_ at me?”

Jack shrugs. “I do check the group chat. And I’m generally up for most things Tolkein-related.” 

“You’re such a nerd and I love you,” Bitty says, shaking his head fondly. 

“Love you too, Bits.”


End file.
